


are you holding your breath

by haipollai



Category: Captain America (Comics)
Genre: Leaving the costume, M/M, PTSD, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haipollai/pseuds/haipollai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't do it," he announces without turning around, fingers gripping the counter top as if he's going to shatter and break. "All of these buildings. All I can see are sniper nests." His nails tap against the stone counter top, creating an odd counter balance to the thud of Steve's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	are you holding your breath

**Author's Note:**

> \+ Some references to the mini "Man Out of Time" and Bucky's comic backstory otherwise not really canon-specific  
> \+ Title from Handwritten by Gaslight Anthem  
> \+ I have been sitting on this fic for actual months (i forgot about it) so way before the newest movie ever came out, so no movie fix-its here

"This is all a lot you know."

Steve sits at the kitchen counter, watching Bucky at the window. He rests with his forehead pressed against the cool glass, watching the city below them. "I know." But it's really a bad lie, Steve doesn't know what he's talking about and Bucky knows.

"The world is so fucking big." Bucky pushes back with a sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Makes my skin crawl."

"I like it." Steve stares down at the morning paper, the headline announcing something about Syria. The news is always awful, but he can't remember if the news he sold on a street corner 80 years ago was any better. Doesn't feel like it's changed much at all. "Reminds me that I don't matter too much."

"You're in history books Steve, you matter." He paces around the kitchen island, pausing to fidget with a fork and a mug, whatever is in reach.

"So are you," Steve says quietly.

He pauses, and very purposefully grabs the mug, turning with it to pour himself a cup of coffee. The movement puts his back to Steve, both vulnerable and protective. Steve can still see the way his arm shakes as he pours, his grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He sets the pot down carefully, scared of breaking it. "I can't do it," he announces without turning around, fingers gripping the counter top as if he's going to shatter and break.

"Can't do what?" Steve wants to move but isn't sure what is best for Bucky right now. 

"Be here. This fucking place." He turns suddenly and leans on the island, fingers still digging into the counter. "I grew up in Virginia on a damn army base. I- I don't know how to live here." He gestures wide with one arm, almost catching Steve across the face. "All of these buildings. All I can see are sniper nests." His nails tap against the stone counter top, creating an odd counter balance to the thud of Steve's heart.

"What do you want, Bucky?"

Bucky stares out the window and Steve knows. He knows as much as he doesn't want to know but it makes sense. "I fought my war Steve," he says softly. "I can't- I'm not the icon like you are."

"Where do you want to go?" He reaches out slowly so Bucky can see the movement and catches his real hand, entwining their fingers. It stills Bucky's fidgety movements. 

"Far away. Somewhere warm."

"You once said you wanted to go to the Grand Canyon."

Bucky smiles slowly. "Yea. Or the Redwoods." He looks down at their hands and leans down to press his lips to Steve's knuckles.

"It's a long way away."

Bucky tenses up again and Steve immediately regrets saying anything. "Closer than we've been for the past few decades."

"Nah, I'm sure you've at least flown over me once or twice."

Bucky snorts and leans further over the counter to press his lips to Steve's. The tension disappears as quickly as it came. "I don't want-"

"You won't lose me," Steve says quickly, trying to assure them both. "You might have to wait for me a bit." Bucky doesn't look assured, probably already picturing the fights Steve will go into without him, everything that could keep Steve behind. The possibility that this is a promise Steve might break. "You have to take care of yourself Buck. I'll tie up loose ends and follow."

"Follow me where?"

"Wherever you want to go."

"Big promise." But some of the weight seems to be off his shoulders, the antsy energy has left him. 

Steve smiles, feeling like he's truly making the right choice here even if on the surface it feels wrong. Bucky's smile already looks less forced. "Plan on keeping it."

-

Steve pulls the motorcycle over in front of a small bar and grill. The sun is hot and has been beating down on his neck and arms for hours. In the front pocket of his pants is a postcard, folded and refolded with no message on it but an address.

Getting there had taken him the better part of a week, going through parts of America with no cell phone service. He spoke to Bucky before taking off but there's still the fear that something has gone wrong. It's already taken longer than planned for Steve to get out of New York. Maybe Bucky has given up on waiting.

He fishes out the postcard now to double check the address.

"Steve Rogers?"

He looks up to see an woman standing in the doorway of the bar, arms folded tightly over her chest. It makes him sit up a little straighter. "Yes ma'am."

"He's upstairs. Told me to keep an eye out for a tall blond stranger on a bike. You better be good to him, that boy came here fucked up."

Steve nods solemnly, regretting again not being able to get out sooner. He had wanted to make sure no one would have a reason to track him down, passing on the suit and shield, even his home. The woman points to a door almost hidden at the edge of the building, leading to a narrow staircase that takes him up and over the bar. There are two apartments there but he knows the address Bucky gave him by heart even as the postcard digs into his palm and knocks softly.

At first he thinks he hasn't been heard but finally the door swings open and it's Bucky. His skin has darkened to a rich tan and the metal arm is hidden under fake skin or an image inducer. His hair falls loose into his eyes and he's relaxed. The nagging fear that always lingered around him faded to a faint background hum.

"Steve?" He asks, disbelief and suspicion obvious in his voice. As if somehow this isn't possibly real. Just a delusion left over from the damage but he doesn't close the door or tell him to fuck off.

"Hey." Steve smiles shyly, still unsure if Bucky even wants him there anymore. Maybe-

Bucky grabs a handful of his shirt and yanks him forward a few steps and properly into the apartment. Steve barely manages to get the door closed behind him before Bucky's lips are on his. "I missed you."

"But you- you look good Bucky." He brushes his fingers over Bucky's cheeks, feeling the edges of his smile. Proving to himself it's there.

"You look exhausted," Bucky laughs. He kisses Steve again and pulls him back towards the kitchen, pushing Steve down into a chair and busying himself with making coffee. It's almost noon but Bucky is obviously just waking up. Steve doesn't say anything, and contents himself with just watching. Bucky's turned the small place into something like a home, more than he ever did back in New York. The kitchen opens up to the living room and Steve can see photographs and art pinned to the walls. Bucky comes back to the table with two mugs of coffee balanced in one hand and sugar in the other. Neither have taken to sweeter modern coffee. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" There's a slight furrow between his eyebrows that Steve wants to soothe away. 

"I'm here."

"Yea but here is different than talking about here." He bumps his knee against Steve's underneath the table. "You gave up a lot."

There's a soft whining and a orange ball of fluff leaps into Steve's lap.

"That's Winnie. She uh wandered into the bar and I couldn't let her leave."

Steve scratches Winnie underneath her chin and with a pleased purr, she curls up in his lap. "It'll be weird for me. It's quiet."

"City boy," Bucky teases. "Maybe later, I mentioned that art gallery, right?" He's fidgeting with his coffee mug, spinning it around and around in circles. So Steve reaches over and lightly touches Bucky's wrist.

"Bucky."

"I don't want you to hate me for taking you out of New York and the costume and all of it-"

Steve cuts him off with a kiss. Winnie whines at being displaced and leaps from Steve's lap which just gives him a reason to tug Bucky closer. "We'll be okay. Do you work tonight?"

"At six. We have time." His hands are already pushing back Steve's jacket and finding the edge of his shirt to get to skin. "Lots of it. Missed you."

-

Tourists come through town but most of the faces are familiar ones. Bucky knows almost all of them. Steve realizes early on that it gives him some comfort, knowing the people around him, knowing their stories. Less for him to worry about. For Steve it reminds him a little bit of home, when his mother was still alive and they knew everyone in their tenement block and the butcher across the street brought over scraps, and Steve's mother sometimes worked for the grocer to get vegetables. It was never enough, but they got by for awhile.

It's quiet though. He's used to the city, and the noise. The first few weeks he could barely sleep without his ear to Bucky's heartbeat to drown out the silence.

It takes him a few weeks more before he has to go away. Somewhere. He does some painting to be sold at the art gallery, the couple who owns the place are very sweet and the tourists who come through very generous but it's not enough. He's antsy, pacing and filling his time with what feels like nothing. Not sure where he fits in anymore. He doesn't keep much of an eye on the news, but information creeps in, he hears of the Avengers taking on the bad guy of the week and part of him longs to be there. To be back in the thick of it.

He tries to keep the feelings away from Bucky, knowing Bucky doesn't want that and Steve wants Bucky to be happy but something must show through.

One day Bucky throws a sleeping bag at him and says he has a week. After that Bucky's coming to look for him. Neither of them talk about what if this life isn't for Steve. What if he's too used to the city, if he can't let go of Captain America. Bucky doesn't want to know how he compares to Captain America, to being the good guy. Steve doesn't know if he even can compare them.

He takes the road into a nearby national park and loses himself somewhere in the small unmarked desert roads. Until the silence burns his ears when he gets out of the car, a beat up truck that Bucky had acquired at some point.

He gets onto the bed of the truck and stares up into searing blue. There are a few hours left of sun and he takes the chance just to walk. And then run, fast and hard until his lungs ache and burn with each breath of dry desert air. Until he doesn't know if he can go further and hope to get back.

When he stops, the only sound he can hear is his own pounding heart. But after it fades, new noises creep in. Animals around him, somewhere in the distance he can make out a woman laughing. Even when it looks like there's nothing around him, he's not alone. It's comforting, like the high rise buildings of New York. Nothing he does matters too much in the end, he's only a man.

Moving slower now, he starts back towards the truck, not sure if he has an answer really but feeling slightly more comfortable in his skin.

It's almost dark by the time he gets back and he settles in the bed of the truck, letting the fading sunlight and the rising moon be his light. Bucky gave him permission to use his emergency stores and Steve picks at a granola bar and stares at the horizon.

The noises around him get louder, more animals coming out as the desert cools. He doesn't know how he never heard them before.

He falls asleep easily that night, even without Bucky's heartbeat and wakes with the dawn.

He spends the next day drawing, trying to recreate the sunset but his sketches keep on going back to Bucky's face, to an apartment he thinks is the one he left back in New York.

Except he realizes that it's not. It's the small place above the bar with a living room taken up by an old pastel blue couch Bucky got for five dollars, with tips left out on the coffee table from Bucky's last shift and Steve's newest piece for the art gallery leaning against the wall. Steve keeps the windows open for the noise from the street below and the warmth that comes in with it.

Steve stares at it and realizes he can barely remember his apartment in New York. It had big windows that Bucky hated, he had a few paintings on the wall that are now in the back of their closet here.

He lived there, did all the right things, but he was fighting the same fights, over and over. Somewhere along the line, he forgot how to live his life as anything but the uniform and he needs to stop and figure that out again.

Not all fights are won with fists, he used to know that.

He goes back the next day, deciding to spend one more night under the stars. When he gets back to town, it no longer feels as oppressive as it did at first. He parks the truck next to his bike and looks up at the small brick building, knowing Bucky is upstairs, feeding Winnie most likely, getting ready for work.

He could get on his bike right then, start the drive back to New York and the uniform. Pick up the shield again, be Captain America. Bucky would understand, he'd be hurt but in the end he would understand. Except Steve doesn't know what he would be going back for.

A fight, back to a war that never seems to end, with too many shades of grey to count.

Sharon and Sam. But they have lives, SHIELD and social work. Sam had practically kicked him out of the apartment to go after Bucky, he wouldn't welcome Steve back with open arms.

He looks up at the building again and notices a movement in the window. Bucky is watching him.

Steve has to make a choice, Bucky or the war. It's an easy choice. He gets out of the car and picks up a pebble, tossing it up at the window. A moment later it slides open and Bucky sticks his head out.

"I don't know what I'm doing, I've been fighting so damn long I- I screw up relationships Bucky."

"You're a pigheaded idiot, I'm not exactly overflowing with experience. What's your point?"

Steve grins and shrugs. "Just warning you."

"You can leave whenever you want."

"Don't want to walk away."

Bucky smiles back and disappears back into the apartment. Steve grabs the sleeping back and darts upstairs. When he gets upstairs, Bucky is lounging on the couch in nothing but an unbuttoned shirt. Steve drops the sleeping bag by the door and goes straight to Bucky.

He kisses Bucky hard, tasting coffee on his tongue. "I'm staying for me," he murmurs, trailing kisses down Bucky's neck. "It's not on you. You don't need to prove anything. I'm here because I think I need to be here."

Bucky runs his fingers through Steve's hair, lightly scratching his scalp. "Good, got enough of my own shit."

Steve nudges Bucky's hip with his nose. "We'll help each other." He looks up at Bucky. "Deal?"

"Deal. Now I've sprawled myself out here, wearing practically nothing." He tugs on Steve's hair, getting him to slide up. Steve's dog tags fall out of his shirt and hang there between them, he's never stopped wearing them. Never thought much about it. Now he slips them off his neck and carefully slips them over Bucky's neck.

"Hold onto them for me."

Bucky smirks and twists them around on the couch, he wraps a hand around both of them, stroking slowly. He closes his eyes which means more than any deep longing looks, he trusts Steve. Steve grips Bucky's hips and pulls him down as he pushes up, pressing them closer together. They fumble at first before they fall into sync and from there, it's easy. They know each other.

Steve moves his hand around Bucky, running his nails over his back to leave his own marks on Bucky's skin. It's not much, but it's enough to make Bucky jerk and moan. Things speed up and fall apart quickly, hands and hips jerking desperately forward. Steve yanks Bucky down for a desperate kiss as he comes, feeling the heavy weight of the dog tags resting on his chest.

"My shirt is stained," Bucky sighs and presses a kiss to Steve's cheek before rolling off. Steve gets up to follow, stripping out of his own dirtied clothes. They move easily around each other in the bathroom, Bucky reaching for a cloth, Steve taking it to wipe Bucky's skin clean before Bucky returns the favor. "You really fine with staying? You're not going to go nuts?" He asks with his hands still on Steve's skin, the metal a strangely cool counterbalance.

Steve looks at him, unashamedly naked except for the dog tags, focused only on his worry for Steve. Worry for him when it should be the other way around, after everything Bucky has been through. The metal arm isn't hidden, no clothes hide his scars and he's worried for Steve. Faced with that, Steve can't lie. Can't even consider trying. "I might," he admits. "I really don't. You'll have to keep me busy."

"Sounds like a worthy challenge." He leans forward and touches his lips to Steve's collarbone, not quite a kiss. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Don't know. Following maybe."

Steve hides a smile in Bucky's hair. He doesn't need to say he'll always follow. It might take him a little while, but he'll always follow.


End file.
